‘Where are we going?’ she yelled, despite the fact she had a small microphone hooked up to the headset, so he winced a little, sending her a look of amusement.
‘Sorry.’ She laughed. ‘Where are we going?’ A whisper now.
Then he laughed, and the sound was like sun-warmed caramel, her body warmed in an instant and involuntary response.
‘Lunch.’
She arched a brow. ‘I thought you meant a sandwich at the deli downstairs.’
It was his turn to pull a face, his expression scandalised. ‘That’s not food.’
‘It’s...not?’
‘I do not like this American way of eating while you are doing other things. Sandwiches!’ He said the word as if it was an affront to good food everywhere, and she found a small smile playing about her lips.
‘Sandwiches are actually very practical. Portable, tasty, filling...’
He shrugged. ‘Boring.’
And she understood then, because Thanos enjoyed nice things. He enjoyed experiences. Parties. Food. Wine. The sun on his body as he sunned himself on the deck of his yacht.
‘You’re a hedonist.’
He turned to face her. ‘Perhaps. But shouldn’t we all be?’
Alice didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to remind Thanos that she’d spent the better part of the last few years wondering how long she could survive on just potatoes, or just bread.
‘So where are we going?’
‘A little place I know.’
The ‘little place he knew’ turned out to be a restaurant in Brooklyn, so exclusive it wasn’t even signposted. He brought his helicopter down on the roof of a building that was only about ten stories tall, busying himself with the technical requirements of flying for a few moments. Moments in which Alice sat completely still and tried to get her head around this bizarre turn of events.
It only became more bizarre when they entered the restaurant through the kitchen and the chefs stopped what they were doing to basically fawn over Thanos. They all wanted to speak to him, and, to his credit, he took a moment with each of them, and seemed to know most of their names. She watched, fascinated, as he asked questions of each, managing small details—the names of their children or partners, offering condolences to one woman who, Alice gathered, had recently lost her father.
‘You come here often?’ she prompted as they swept into the restaurant itself—a loft space that could have accommodated a hundred diners but which had instead been converted into a room that felt almost like a penthouse lounge, all elegant sofas interspersed with enormous fiddle-leaf fig plants in copper pots. This made it possible for the dining tables to be set far apart, creating complete privacy, and suddenly Alice understood the appeal.
No one would hear their conversation; they could speak entirely unobserved.
He held a chair out for her only seconds before a waiter appeared.
‘Mr Stathakis, welcome back. Would you like to see a menu?’
Thanos tilted his head towards Alice. ‘I usually just eat what is
served. However, you might like to take a look?’
‘No, that’s fine.’ She shook her head. ‘Whatever you have will be great, I’m sure.’
‘I can ask if they will serve you sandwiches?’ he teased and her heart skipped a beat.
‘That would be lovely.’ She winked to show she was joking.
Thanos grinned, dismissing the waiter with a few words in Greek, before taking the seat opposite her. She felt an unwelcome burst of nerves, and did her best to quell them.
In the office, his proposition had been surprising. On the helicopter, she’d been overawed by the glamour and completely unusual turn of events. But here, in a romantic, secluded restaurant, sitting across from one of the world’s wealthiest men—to say nothing of his personal charms and physical appeal—Alice’s pulse was trembling unstoppably.
‘Relax,’ he murmured, apparently intuiting her panic.